I went to a shop called Flowers Naturally. I could smell real flowers, but I couldn't find them. Room after room of towering plastic constructions, table drapings, $230 plastic posies, perfect daze. I left.
My mother, the page boy, the bridesmaid and I went for a ceremonial dress fitting in Wodonga. The dressmaker was trapped by an ash cloud in Darwin.
We went to see the photographer. His shop had been turned into a tattoo parlour. He was not there.
The hair and make-up interview was great. The woman knew exactly what I wanted. Then she rolled her eyes and looked a bit frightened. I have seen similar looks in first -calving heifers. I did not stay to watch her bump descend.
Our musician has gone off to make a documentary about permaculture in remote aboriginal communities. Dad rose to the challenge of downloading some music. Mum stopped him just before he sent his bank details to an obscure russian website. Dad reckons she sounded like a banshee as she did this.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
The present from Pen makes herself at home.
We haven't caught a mouse in two days. And the sewing machine is back!
Electricity rising = billy on the open fire. Billy on the open fire = discovering the sturdy iron bar that will hold the pots. Anthony Bourdain on TV = fascinating with fire cooking. I roasted a whole butternut in the ashbed. Good it was too.
The flowers will come from our gardens
